UPLIFT LINES 



BY 
FRANKLIN PIERCE CARRIOAN 



d 





v/^ 



1 



HE swallow seeks the southland, 
When autumn winds blow chill. 
The sun forsakes the meadow. 
When night creeps o'er the hill. 
The stars withdraw their glory 

In sad affliction's hour. 
The storm has no compassion 
On tree, or bush, or flower. 

But friendship knows no southland 

To which to fly afar; 
It holds no night of darkness. 

Bereft of moon or star. 
Its light glows brighter, brighter. 

When other Hghts have paled; 
Its song rings sweeter, sweeter, 

W^hen other songs have failed. 

Thy friendship is a blessing. 

Like peace that follows prayer; 
*Twas God Who sent you to me. 

My pain and joy to share. 
The swallow's golden music 

Is in thy voice of cheer; 
There is no sunless night-time. 

With thy fond presence near. 

F. P. C. 



UPLIFT LINES 




BY 



FRANKLIN PIERCE CARRIGAN 



PUBLIJHED BY 

GEO. W. PARKER ART COMPANY 

MINNEAPOLIS 






COPYRIGHTED l9tO BY 

GEO. W. PARKER 

ART CO. 



~v 



^ ^ong tCriumpfjant 




|Y song is the song of optimism. 
Through the trumpet of truth I'll send it wide 
/4 l^rmn»^l That all may receive its burning chrism. 

And all the joy its blessings betide. 
We hear too much of the old world's sorrow — 

'Tis more of a myth than many suppose; 
And its miser-hand is outstretched to borrow 
The spendthrift coins of our fancied woes. 

My song is the song of the NOW, resplendent 

With light of advancement and industry's hum. 
And the marching on of the God-descendant 

To music of fife and beating of drum. 
There never was era of ages olden 

So fraught with freedom as that of today. 
No century rife with such beauty golden. 

Where progress blazes a luminous way. 

My song is the song of a vast alliance. 

The union of hearts and the meeting of hands. 
Of brothers who seek in friendship's reliance 

An earthly expression of heaven's commands. 
O ye who struggle in ignorant blindness 

In search of the light where the sun never glows! 
Learn now and forever an act of kindness 

Is the truest religion the whole world knows. 




iHemorp 

lURY the dreams of memory, 
^H Bury them low and deep; 

And over their grave let the 
poppies wave — 
The flowers of endless sleep. 
Their breath is that of a famished wolf. 
And their kiss is a serpent's sting; 
And they poison the brain with their 
sad refrain 
Of sighs and the grief they bring. 

Bury the dreams of memory — 

They tied thy feet to a stone. 
And kept thee afar from ambition's 
star. 
And left thee to grieve alone. 
Look not to the land where the sun- 
set dies, 
But gaze on the heavens of dawn; 
And wander not back in the olden 
track. 
But forward and upward and on. 




^i)t JBaton of ^rogregg 

|OU envy the king his palace. 
And throne and sceptre and 
crown. 
His robes of purple and ermine. 

And dominion o'er country and town. 
When yours is a nobler kingdom 

Of freedom and manhood and joy. 
If passion and envy are smothered 

Ere they conquer, defile and destroy: 
'Tis only the ignorant envy. 
And the wise that truly enjoy. 

Your power is rooted within you — 

It does not come from without; 
Drink deep of the waters of wisdom. 

And cleanse all your being of doubt. 
Walk not in the path of another — 

The new stretches out to explore; 
Discard the old harness of habit 

With the past and its graveyard lore: 
Be faithful and constant as Wodin, 

With the courage and daring of Thor. 




tEIje Cricket 

]HE cricket is a bare-foot boy 
A-chirping in the stubble; 
He says life is a great, big joy. 
And care a little bubble. 
That never gave to any one 
A farthing for their trouble. 

"Chirrup! Chirrup!" sings his flute 

In fair or stormy weather; 
And Messrs. Robin, Thrush and Wren 

Declare he's very clever 
To strive to rival them in song. 

Without a single feather. 

You could not stop him if you tried. 

He is so pert and sassy; 
He loves the clover and the grass 

As well as gardens classy. 
And sings through all the pleasant world 

To every lad and lassie. 

O Master Cricket; you're the prince 

Of optimistic fellows; 
Your **chirrup, chirrup" is the wand 

To banish "blues" and "yellows," 
An' e'en the "greens" that lovers have 

Are subject to your bellows. 




Mv ^iirtfjbap (gift 



SHALL not send thee flowers'nor 

jewel's 
Upon thy natal day, 
For flowers will fade and jewels are lost. 

But thoughts will live alway; 
And so I send my thoughts to thee 

Writ out in winsome words. 
That hold the sunlight's spendthrift gold 
And songs of singing birds. 

I send thee faith and hope and love. 

Three gifts of birth divine; 
I do not send thee charity — 

It is already thine. 
They are the key to every tongue. 

To deed and word and thought. 
Within the power of all to give. 

And neither sold nor bought. 

I trust thy years will drift along 

Like mill-stream gliding through 
The meadows where forget-me-nots 

And violets are blue; 
And turn full many mill-wheels ere 

They reach the opal sea. 
Whence all may glimpse the golden strand 

Of God's eternity. 



ASKED of the brook a question. 
As it hurried beneath the bridge. 
And it whispered it to the river. 

At the base of yon mountain ridge; 
And the river quickly bore it 
Along to the restless sea; 
But only the wind made answer. 
The wind in the linden tree. 

I asked of the hills far-stretching 

Away in the evening light — 
Blue hills that are just as silent 

As time in its onward flight; 
But shadows of night crept o'er them. 

And bore no message to me — 
'Twas only the wind that answered. 

The wind in the linden tree. 

I asked of the stars a-tremble 

Afar in the darkling skies. 
But they like the hills were silent. 

Though I knew they were just as wise; 
And even the moon, appearing. 

But deepened the mystery — 
'Twas only the wind that answered. 

The wind in the linden tree. 

But, lo! you came and my question 

Was answered a thousand fold. 
By the brook, the hills and starshine. 

And moon Hke a shield of gold; 
For your presence filled the night-time 

With enchanting melody. 
And was words to the haunting music 

Of the wind in the linden tree. 




l^fjanfeggitiing 



HE trees are an emerald harp. 
The wind is a golden voice. 
Singing at morn and at eve, 
Ihat all may hear and rejoice. 
The hills are a sapphire dream. 

The river a beautiful song. 
Filling the daytime with joy. 
And making the night less long. 

The robins that sing in the wheat. 

The bees that drone in the limes. 
The locusts that shrill in the corn. 

The swallows a-wing in the chimes, 
Are happy because of the charm 

And sweetness and meaning of hfe, 
TTiat only the selfish complain 

Is naught but a burden and strife. 

We know that God and the blue 

Are back of the clouds and the rain; 
He knows what is best for the world. 

And what to withdraw and ordain. 
Why struggle against His decree? — 

Whatever our lot it is just; 
For heavenly bliss is the wage 

Of earthly thanks-giving and trust. 




I AVE faith in yourself as well as in others — 
'Twill help you to live and will lighten 
your work; 

'Tis only the coward that tramples his brothers — 
The scroll of advancement is not for the shirk. 
The sunlight rays health and the heavens rain pity. 

And the manna of earth is for one and for all — 
O dwellers by mountain, on plain, and in city. 
Throw off custom's yoke and obey nature's call. 

Have hope, for the world is barren without it, 

TTiis essence of being and breath of the soul; 
The oceans proclaim it, the vagrant winds shout it. 

And it echoes on high in a clarion roll. 
Transmuted from love to an incense supernal. 

It pours like a river o'er heaven's blue slope — 
O flame of the fire whose fuel is eternal — 

A new life is born by baptism of hope. 




^agt anb ^regent 

HE past has no bread to offer. 
Nor water to quench the thirst; 
It stretches a lonely desert. 
Desolate, bleak, accursed. 
Its stairs are steep as the monarch's 

To the poet in search of alms; 
And it sifts the salt of denial 

On the toiler's out-stretched palms. 



The present is free from illusions. 

And dreams that are alien to acts; 
Its knowledge is wholly sufficient 

To temper the iron of facts. 
Its song is the song triumphant 

Of the conqueror, not the clod; 
Its heights are pinnacles cleaving 

The future of heaven and God. 




HE strong and brave for the battle, 
TTie tried and swift for the race; 
But the man who laughs at fortune 
Can set them a merry pace. 
His wisdom is more than sages; 

He has grasped the meaning of life. 
Which was sent to all as a blessing 
Instead of a selfish strife. 



The man who is boastful of glory 

In fact is a ranting clod; 
But the man who cheers his brothers 

Is truly a man of God. 
All life on the earth would perish. 

If heaven withdrew its smile; 
So we welcome the man of laughter 

As the only man worth while. 



N Persian gardens long ago 
The lilacs had their birth: 
*Tis said an angel brought 
the seed 
From Paradise to earth. 

It may be true, it may be false; 

I care not what it be, 
If Maytime brings the lilacs here. 

With joy and minstrelsy. 

O lilacs! loved by oriole — 

O lilacs! haunt of thrush, 
Your plumes spray honeyed redolence 

At morn and twilight hush. 

If you were sown by angel's hand. 
And Persia knew your birth, 

*Twere fitting that I sent you to 
The truest heart on earth. 



JAN 28 ^91 i 




One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



JAN 28 191 i 







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